


Paternity

by Sally_Port



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, No Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_Port/pseuds/Sally_Port
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the trip from the Tower to Willoughby, Charlie learns the truth about her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paternity

Rachel had slit her wrist again.

Miles groaned when he saw all the blood. The last time she'd made a couple of jagged gashes with a sharp rock that he'd wrapped and that had been that. But apparently she'd managed to find a shard of glass and had a decent go of it.

He wanted to yell at Aaron that he was suppose to be watching her and why hadn't he checked the area around Rachel's blanket for debris, but one look at both their faces and he knew there was nothing he could say that would help the situation and Aaron was focusing on stitching up the wound. He was even, Miles though abstractedly, doing a pretty good job of it. But then, this wasn't the first time,

A month ago, if someone had asked, he'd had said Rachel was the toughest person he'd ever met. She'd survived the Blackout, even haunted by the knowledge that she helped create it; nine years as Monroe's captive; the death of her husband and son. Hell, she'd managed to survive him.

But for whatever reason, she couldn't seem to survive Atlanta and Philadelphia. Considering she'd hated both cities, and that the estimated millions killed was a small number compared to the blackout, he constantly tried to understand the guilt that drove her since they'd fled the Tower. But it had been 17 days and she'd attempted suicide 8 times.

Six of those times had been token attempts. Minor injuries or someone wrestling her chosen weapon away from her before she could hurt herself. He'd almost have thought she'd been posturing. But two of those times had been truly serious. Once, when she had found a nightshade plant and had been eating the berries when Charlie had found her. It had been a small plant but what she'd already eaten could have killed her. She'd fought them until Miles had knocked her unconscious so she couldn't bite while Charlie shoved fingers down Rachel's throat until she had vomited. 

And now this. The cuts looked deep and the blood pooling over the ground was disturbingly puddled. On impulse, he grabbed a stick and moved some of the dirt aside. "Damn." It went nearly half inch deep before he found dry earth.

If she lived through this, and they'd be lucky if she did, he could only desperately hope her father was still alive. They were only three days travel from Willoughby and if Dr. Porter hadn't died or moved, Miles was looking forward to handing the whole problem of a suicidal madwoman over to someone who was actually related to her.

He had loved her once. And he had lied to her once when he said he didn't. But if anyone asked him now, he didn't know the answer. He felt sorry for her, but part of him knew he wasn't doing this for her. It was for Charlie. For that one pure, good thing that had come out of all of the nightmare between him and Rachel and Ben. Even now he wasn't a hundred percent sure he wasn't her father. He didn't think so. The timing didn't quite add up. . .but first babies were sometimes late. Though ten months and eighteen days seemed like a little long.

It may have only been a three day walk, but, looking at Rachel's ashen face, he was pretty sure they'd need more than three days.

Aaron looked like he had everything stitched and wrapped up tight enough there was no blood spilling through the white bindings and Miles rummaged through his pack for a length of tubing with large-bore needles attached at either end. He'd picked up a variety of first aid supplies after her earliest wrist-slashing episode and had almost convinced himself he wouldn't need it.

The last time he'd given anyone blood had been Nora. And Rachel had let Nora die.

But there was Charlie to think about, he reminded himself. She was off hunting and the last thing she needed was to come back and find her mother dead.

"Aaron," he said, holding up the tubes. "I'm going to need you to find a vein."

Aaron looked at him like he was crazy -- but he looked at a lot of people like that about a lot of things and Miles had decided not to get upset about it anymore. He even admitted that for all he complained, Aaron did a good job sewing up torn flesh. Maggie had apparently taught him and thought no one in their right mind would ever go to him if they had a choice, when there was no choice he seemed to have the knack of coming thought.

"Are you sure that's such a good idea. This is bandit country."

"Well she's going to die otherwise. And unless you happen to be O-negative blood as well."

"Sorry. A-positive."

So close. Rachel, Miles knew, was A-negative. "Then it's going to have to be me. At least until Charlie gets back. Ben was O-negative as well so she's either got his blood type or A-negative like Rachel."

Fortunately Aaron didn't ask how Miles knew Rachel's blood type. She'd cut her finger, when he'd been visiting, and had tossed the rag into the trash. Charlie had been just six months old, perfect and heartbreaking and he'd so desperately wanted her to be his he'd gone so far as to send the sample of Rachel's blood to one of the mail-order labs that advertised on the internet and didn't ask questions if you checked the right box on electronic user agreement and your credit card processed the transaction. And you actually mailed the sample.

He'd mailed Rachel's quickly enough, getting back a full report on blood type and DNA markers and assurance they'd keep the specimen on file in their records for ten years. Charlie's. . .he'd waited for six months before he'd been there when she'd fallen and cut her head and her screams had gone straight to his heart like someone had taken a knife to it. He'd helped clean her up and had been mesmerized because it hadn't been pain or fear or despair in her voice. She'd been just plain mad.

He'd planned on mailing it that day. To know for sure, finally. He'd gotten Ben's blood easily enough. A brotherly swat to the face at just the wrong time and angle and laughing over the sink while Ben's nose bled. He'd mailed that one right after he got it, less than two months after he'd gotten Rachel's.

So with all three of their DNA already in the labs computer -- Rachel's, Ben's and his -- and the stolen washcloth on his shelf, it would have been worth the $49.95 plus tax plus shipping to finally know the truth. Til he realized he didn't want to know it. If she was his, then Charlie would become the living symbol of how he and Rachel had betrayed Ben. And he wasn't so sure he'd be able to keep his mouth shut. This way, he could love her when it suited him, walk away when wanted to and never have to worry about Ben seeing something in his eyes. He'd burned it. 

He lay down next to Rachel's still form and tried not to yell when Aaron stuck the needle into his arm. The man may have been competent, but no one could ever accuse him of any expertise.

He was probably a pint -- maybe one-and-a-half -- down when Charlie came back into camp with three rabbits. They were good sized and meaty and Miles wondered if rabbit stew would be something they could get Rachel to eat.

Charlie's tanned skin blanched white when she saw them and she rushed forward, dropping the rabbits carelessly. "What happened?"

Miles let Aaron explain, too tired to try to add anything to it and pretty sure Rachel wasn't going to communicate anything either.

He must have dozed off because suddenly Charlie was tapping him on the shoulder and Aaron was pulling the needle out of his arm. She had that look she would get when she thought he wouldn't like an idea but she was going to do it anyway. It hurt just a little to know all her facial expressions and still have to keep her at arms length. In her he saw all the force and drive of Rachel, combined with all Ben's goodness and he didn't want to think about her at all. But after he got them dropped off in Willoughby, he was going to take a nice, long, solo vacation and decide if he wanted to drown his sorrows in whores or alcohol. He hoped Nora would forgive him for whatever one he chose.

"Okay, sorry, Charlie," Aaron told her. "This is probably going to hurt a little. Um, a lot. But it'll. . .Well, just hold still."

"Stop."

The word was so quiet they almost missed it and all three of them turned to Rachel like the rocks had just started speaking, which, Miles though, was what it felt like. She'd not spoken to anyone in three days.

"Rachel," Aaron said and his voice sounded like he was talking to a child, "We have to do this. You need more blood. We can't just let you die."

Her face was still too pale but it had lost that waxy stillness of creeping death. Her lips curved up just slightly. "Oddly enough. That's the idea. Which is pretty stupid because twenty minutes ago I was trying to kill myself but if I really wanted to die, all I would have to do is just keep my mouth shut and you'd all kill me without me having to do anything." At their silence, she sighed, like they were incapable of intelligent conversation. She did it a lot. "I am A-negative. Charlie's not"

"Well, Ben was O-negative so that should still be okay," Aaron explained.

Rachel, who was too weak to sit up, lift her arms, or even move more than a few inches, still managed to look superior. "Go ahead then. But she's B negative."

Aaron looked surprised. "That's not possible. Rachel,, how is that possible?"

"Ben. Low sperm count. We tried. Couldn't get pregnant. Tried for two years. He wanted a baby so badly. Sperm bank."

For at least a year of that, she'd been sleeping with him too, Miles realized. Memories of her gentle urging that it was the wrong time of the month or she was on the pill or he could just pull out and they didn't really need that condom. But he'd always been religious about not trusting anyone else and had always worn a condom. The irony was, after Charlie was born, he did want her to be his and clung to the hope that last time -- when the condom had broken and he hadn't quite pulled out in time -- might have been enough. But apparently it hadn't if her blood type really was B-negative. Had she really loved him, that last day at the airport. Or had all she been looking for was a sperm donor. And if Charlie had been born ten-months eighteen days later, she certainly hadn't waited long.

Charlie was panting, her face turning red and Miles suddenly felt like an ass he'd been so caught up in his own feelings he hadn't even noticed she was hyper-ventilating. He struggled to sit up but Aaron beat him to her, his voice issuing commands on breathing until her tear-blotched face turned to Rachel, enough breath to spare finally that she gasped out, "That's a lie!"

Milies would have sworn five minutes ago she had Ben eyes and chin. But as he looked back and forth between the two faces all he could see was Rachel, transmuted in every line of her features. It was her personality, Miles realized, that was Ben. And that didn't take DNA.

"It's not a lie, Charlie." Rachel didn't even sound apologetic, and if she hadn't been so weak, Miles swore he would have slapped her for it.

"Danny?"

"He'd seen fertility specialists by then. It wasn't easy."

"So he knew?"

Rachel gave her another one of the don't-be-stupid looks and sick or not, Miles felt his palm start to itch. "Of course he knew. He went down to the clinic to register and while we never saw photos, the counselor assured us the donor looked very similar to Ben. We were going to go with the O-negative blood type, but she said there were no available choices who looked anything like Ben and he didn't want to wait any longer for new donors."

So clinical, so uncaring, that she'd destroyed her daughter's world so casually. No hint of apology for doing it or hiding it or keeping silent until it benefited her.

If, Miles reflected, she really had wanted to die, then she wouldn't have said anything and just let the blood cells kill her.

He really was done with her, he realized. Was that woman he'd loved real at all? He didn't even care anymore.

Charlie didn't want to talk about it, he found out, when he'd recovered enough blood to be able to walk out to where she was sitting, knees pulled up to her chest. She didn't protest when he sat near her, but she refused to discuss anything other than what they should do with the rabbits.

It took six more transfusions to get Rachel able to walk and even that was barely. Miles was so exhausted from the constant blood-sharing that he left most of Rachel's care to Aaron. He also seemed to be angry with her, if his tone was any indication. But he also had no reason to take any of it personally like Charlie and Miles did. Charlie hunted nearly constantly. She left at first light and didn't come back to camp until near dark -- sitting a little ways apart to skin whatever she had caught. Miles tried to help but he fumbled blades and even simple tasks left him unable to stand.

It then almost six days to cover the distance and Miles stared at the tires woven though the town gate. He loved Texas, he reflected, even though it was a pain in the ass and the guards wanted them to come back in the morning. Aaron persisted and finally one of them left, saying they would check with Dr. Porter and Miles breathed a sign of relief that Gene apparently was still alive.

He must have fallen asleep or passed out because the next thing he knew a grayer, more lined Gene was tucking him into a bed and Miles could hear Charlie talking but her voice sounded like it was coming from a long way off.

He stayed there three days, enough time for Rachel to be back on her feet. His Rachel-free vacation would have to wait until Charlie was ready to talk, but he realized he needed out of the same house, even if the old white farmhouse was large enough he could have mostly avoided her. The knowledge that he could run into Rachel in the hall or would have to see her at meals was too much. And Charlie needed space to not have a visual reminder every time she looked at him.

There were rooms for rent in Willoughby and he ended up in one that had once been the office for an old photography studio. All the glass made him paranoid but it was also frosted so he could see people coming, even if he couldn't identify them. He got Aaron to bring him the news because Gene was too busy with his daughter, he had no desire to talk to Rachel. And Charlie, it seemed, had no desire to talk to him. He didn't to admit how much that hurt.

He finally relented and went to dinner there, a week after he'd moved. Rachel was doing better physically but she'd poured all her efforts into that wall she put between people and it was easy to see the strain on Charlie. Who mostly avoided talking to her mother. And oddly enough, seemed to be avoiding talking to him.

He wanted to try to reach out and let her know that -- didn't matter if she were his daughter or Ben's daughter or who-the-hell knew who's daughter, that he would always love her but every time he spoke to her she winced and got this brittle look that reminded him a little of Rachel and he finally gave up, talking to Gene and Aaron until he could leave as early as he could possibly get away with it. Rachel actually tried to be nice to him when he was saying good-bye and he wanted to slap her again for it but the sight of Charlie, glancing through the kitchen where she had volunteered to do the dishes, stopped him and he accepted Rachel's hug.

He stopped for a drink at the tavern before going to his room -- he certainly needed it. He turned down two women offering to keep him company -- though he wanted that too. But he wasn't even sure he wanted to know who's memory he'd be trying to dull and he smiled politely, bought them both drinks, and headed back to his room alone.

He paused as he came up the stairs, trying to recall if he'd turned his lights off before going to Gene's and drawing his sword as he remembered trimming the wicks in the lantern. The sound of steel on leather was loud in the stairwell and he saw a shadowed form move inside room but then he heard Charlie's voice. "MIles?"

He walked in, found her seated on the one chair near the window, her long legs drawn up, hunched, folded, like a broken toy tossed aside. "Charlie?" he asked. The relief coursing through him had nothing to do, he realized, with finding her instead of some unknown assailant. It was that he hadn't stumbled in with some woman attached to him. He started to step towards her but some warning look in her face stopped him and he went to go sit on the bed instead. "What are you doing here?"

"You don't have to stay, you know." Her voice was harsh and he felt himself frowning at her.

"What?"

"You don't have to stay. Here. Willoughby." She sounded as if she were about to cry but it was at odds with the dead look in her face and then the lifelessness shifted to fill her voice as well. "For us. You've done more than. . .I know you did it because we were family. But. . .we're not. . . ." She didn't seem to be able to say it and he opened his mouth to reassure her that it didn't matter who her father was, that she would always be his niece. However, his throat closed down and the only thing that filled his brain was a little voice whispering that she wasn't Ben's, wasn't his, wasn't wasn't, wasn't and he tried to stop but some part of it must have shown into his face because she stood. "So I just wanted to say, thank you for everything you did."

She was closing the door before he managed to get out just one single, half-choked, "Charlie."

Part of him breathed in relief and part of him screamed at him to let her go because she would be better off but she froze with her fingers still wrapped around the door knob and he couldn't speak no matter how hard he tried but their eyes locked.'

He didn't even know he had moved until his body slammed into hers, half way between the bed and the door and he felt the impact jar through his body and his brain both. Stop, stop, stop. Too old, too broken, too stupid, too stubborn, too used, too selfish, too damned. But his arms locked around her and he couldn't tell if he was kissing her or if she was kissing him or who was trying to crawl closer to the other one's embrace.

This was wrong, he told himself. She was going to hate herself and hate him for this and he was a monster for taking advantage of her like this. But she was ripping his shirt away and every smile she'd ever given him since she'd walking into the bar in Chicago that had made his breath catch, that he'd convinced himself was because she might be his daughter because even he refused to be in-lust with his own niece.

She was moaning against his mouth and he suddenly realized she wasn't the only one. They were fumbling with each other's belts as they sank the floor, pulling at what little remained of their clothing. There was a bed, just five feet away, he tried to reason. Too far.

She cried out as he entered her and he froze, barely able to control himself. He pulled his head out of her shoulder to touch their foreheads together and suddenly that smile he'd thought he'd lost forever was focused on no one but him and he held her so tight his arms ached and she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a rough kiss. She laughed out loud, tracing his lips with her tongue, her fingers moving to trace his cheek with one hand and his hip with the other. He suddenly realized why he had always hated Jason Neville. And he'd thought it was only because he hadn't trusted his loyalties.

"Hey, you," he whispered against her mouth and she flashed that smile again.

"Hey, yourself." She moaned as he started to move in her, keeping it slow because otherwise he knew he wasn't going to last long and he wanted to feel her coming around him first. Granted, he knew a few tricks in case he wasn't able to control himself, but no reason not to try.

Her hands went to his shoulders, spasm-ing again the muscles of his back and he had to fight himself to keep the rhythm even. He slipped his hands under her to grab her hips and tilt her pelvis so that he could get just a little deeper in her. She gave a long, shivery breath that almost made him climax just by sound alone.

He concentrated on moving, thrusting, paying attention to what made her cry or gasp or bite her lip in intense concentration. They'd been a team for so long he had thought he'd known everything there was to know about her but her taste and the feel of her breasts against his chest, the slide of her hands and her hips and the texture of her skin where he was embedded in her was all new and he tried to focus on each one.

He felt her breathing change and her moans turn to cries and suddenly she jerked around him, every muscle in her body feeling like it was locking over every one in his and he knew it was her name he gasped just seconds after she screamed his.

It took him a good five minutes of holding her before he realized what an utter ass he was being, keeping her pinned between him and a cold, hard linoleum floor but she whimpered when he tried to pull away. He kissed her deeply, making promises with his lips that he didn't dare with his voice that he was never really going to leave her. Not as long as she wanted him to stay. But finally he convinced her to stand and they staggered the last few feet to the bed and wrapped around each other as they fell asleep.

He almost felt guilty, when he woke up, that he didn't feel guilty. But as he pried his eyes open he was staring into hers and it was the first time in a very long time he'd seen her look happy. She yawned and stretched and grinned as other parts of him decided to wake up too. She gave him a look that mixed lust, love and hero worship and he felt the smile split his face as she moved in, their lips meeting. There was nothing frantic about the slow kisses they exchanged on lips, cheeks, noses, eyes, brow before settling on a very long exchange of exploring each others mouth.

When he finally drew back enough to rub their noses together, she laughed and he pulled her closer. "What?" he asked. Because he might be new to being her lover but he knew when she had something to say but was waiting for the right time.

"I was just thinking how glad I was that Mom was lying to us both."

"I'm not sure she'll be okay with that." The look on her face said exactly what Rachel could do with herself and Miles privately agreed with her before he decided he just didn't care WHAT Rachel did with herself any more. They bent their head back together, laughter growing and he drove himself into her and she dragged her fingers down his back.

She had been wrong, Miles realized. She was his family. Not the kind he had ever even dared let himself think. But the only one he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been into the idea of Miles/Charlie (I actually generally prefer Charlie/Monroe). But at the same time, there's something between the characters that compliments each other and its not hard to imaging their relationship being able to develop if there had been different circumstances. Its a prime-time network show, so I know there is no chance of there ever being a relationship between them (and as previously stated, I like her better with Monroe) but I started to think, what if Rachel had been lying about who Charlie's dad was, and it wasn't Ben but it wasn't Miles and suddenly she wasn't his niece.
> 
> I apologize to any Rachel fans out there. I actually like her character a lot because it has so many facets and can be so brutal to achieve her goals but is so heartbroken at the same time. However, for purposes of this story, I emphasized every negative characteristic and ignored all of her positive ones.
> 
> I love comments so please, feel free.


End file.
